"Hoo dae folk find oot onything? I am gey gleg at the uptake, ye ken;" and the old lady indulged in a mysterious chuckle, so very provocative of curiosity, that Mary began to wonder if the gift were indeed hers; if not, there was only another person in the world from whom it could come. The thought made the lustrous rubies pale and lose half their attractions,-she thought of poor unhappy Norah sobbing beneath the fir-tree at the lake. Her sad, strange story seemed to sound in her ears, and taking them off she re-inclosed them in their case with a deep sigh, and then lay down saddened and subdued, and yet happy in the thought that Norah was with her father, and that, miserable as they were, they would both be happy in comparison to the suspense and anguish they had endured. The preparations for the approaching gala-day, the arrangement of bouquets, and festoons of flowers and laurels, had kept her so much engaged that she had had no time to call on Biddy or go to Docherty's Head; but when it was over, her first walk should be to the village, where Biddy would tell her how things had gone with Norah.

CHAPTER XXIV.

MONSIEUR HENRI'S DISCOVERY.

THE great day at last dawned, as great days have and will continue to dawn till the end of time, not bright and smiling, but sloppy, wet, and uncomfortable. Slowly the laden hours rolled away in kitchen and hall until the great hour par excellence drew near.

Miss Nickie and her niece were seated in state in the drawing-room; the elder lady had inspected the younger's dress, and pronounced it unexceptionable, all but one omission, which made her knit her bushy brows and ask in a tone of some displeasure-" Where's the rubies, bairn? Ye have nae on yer ruby ornaments."

"No, I have not. They looked so splendidly out of place, Aunt, on poor little me, that I could not bear them. This white rose suits me better.”

She did not say, "I know they are his, and I cannot wear them, not now, with Norah's face of agony fresh in my memory," but those were the thoughts that filled her heart.

Silly bairn," said Miss Nickie, tapping her gently with her fan, "there's no ane in a hunder would even roses wi' rubies; but look oot, what's that?"

It was Sir Philip, a little in advance of his guests. He was in gay spirits, and laughed and talked with a frank cheerfulness very unlike his usual reserve; but Mary could not meet him with the frank, cousinly affec

tion she had always showed. She could not disconnect his image from that of Norah's, and when she looked at him or talked with him felt unpleasantly conscious at the mournful secret that had been confided to her.

With Philip came five young men, his particular friends. One of them was a Frenchman, quite young, a graceful man, with soft brown eyes, and a fair, handsome, almost womanly face. Miss Nickie, mindful of her old favourite Monsieur de la Roche, received him very graciously, but he was not at all like the cynical, brilliant colonel whose presence had so enlivened Castle Connell. He was a handsome fellow, but very small, and there were evidences of fragile health in the quick flush that went and came on his regular, sensitive, mobile features, in the stoop of his little, slender figure, and even in his indolent, gentle, dreamy movements. He was very quiet, with no great apparent talent for anything except laughing, or rather smiling. In all circumstances, the well-formed, delicate lips, that never closed firmly over the white teeth, were parted with a smile. It was impossible to vex Monsieur Henri, Sir Philip said, or put him out in any way: he was the best fellow in the world. It would have been cruel to have hinted what was perhaps true also, that the surpassingly clear stream was, on the surface at least, surprisingly shallow; and yet there was a fascination in his unimpressible light-heartedness which was attractive even to those who did not much admire him.

"He's a kindly crature," said the old lady to herself, after a short conversation with him, "but he's no another De la Roche." He was not, certainly, but there was an irresistible pleasantness in his light, careless, pleasureloving nature, that had all the goût and effervescence of champagne to the deeper, darker temperament of Sir Philip.

"La

From the first Monsieur Henri (for by that name alone he was known) was very much attracted by Mary, dame aux roses blanches," as he persisted in calling her.

His evident admiration seemed to pique and annoy Sir Philip. "There, don't bother me," he said somewhat abruptly; "she is a good little girl, but nothing wonderful; we always thought her plain."

Monsieur Henri's flexile lips unclosed in their wonted smile. "She is wonderfully graceful, I think. Plain ! How absurd!" and he set off to find some more sympathising listener, into whose ears he might pour the raptures of his admiration.

Mary," said her cousin, coming up to her in a pause of the dancing, "have you no ornaments? Every other lady in the room has; I don't like you to be singular. Aunt should not have neglected that part of your dress."

"Never mind ornaments," she answered quickly. "Monsieur Henri will tell you that these poor roses are priceless jewels ;" and she laughed merrily as she recollected the Frenchman's compliments.

"You will dance the next set with me, Mary?"

Really I cannot, I am engaged."

"Not to that dangling butterfly ?"

"Yes; but speak more respectfully of Monsieur, pray: he is my particular property."

"Indeed!" and Sir Philip flung away in evident dissatisfaction. Mary made no reply. The thought of Norah came over her again so vividly, that Monsieur Henri, looking at her subdued, mournful face, marvelled at the sudden and becoming pensiveness which had transformed his gay Dame aux roses blanches into the drooping beauty before him.

"Sir Philip, too, who was flirting hard with his successive partners, sent a glance from time to time across

the room to her. "She is in a bad humour," he thought. "What whims women take!" while Mary, as she listened to Monsieur Henri's compliments, was wondering how his heart could let him talk so gaily and laugh so loudly.

The party at Castle Connell was voted a complete success, and young Sir Philip, in particular, won golden opinions from all. The young ladies declared him quite a love of a man; their mammas thought him a steady, sensible fellow; and the old gentlemen agreed that the property was much improved-Martin Doyle, who knew what he was about, had looked to that. And then from all sides there arose a chorus of lamentations over that low marriage entanglement into which the horrid, pettifogging attorney had entrapped Sir Maurice. "Bargains of that kind ought not to be allowed. It was such a pity for the poor young man," &c. The horrid pettifogging attorney was not present either at the dinner party or at the ball which succeeded it. Perhaps he was ashamed to face so many young ladies of good family whom his cunning foresight had baulked of the chance of becoming Lady Connell. Perhaps his excuse of illness was real. No one missed him except Sir Philip, who found time amid all his enjoyment to note and resent the absence of his agent and quondam guardian.

Next morning before his friends were stirring he was at Cumlagh, and the housekeeper, yielding to his imperative commands, took him upstairs to her master's room. The old man was lying in an uneasy sleep, turning and muttering some hurried words. Sir Philip bent over him and heard them distinctly. "Forgive me, oh! forgive me, Maurice Connell." A cold, cruel gleam shot from his dark eyes. "I have the old fox at last," he muttered, and bent lower still to catch the tardy confession.

None came. With a start, old Martin Doyle awoke.